


Teach Me

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of A Song of Ice and Fire Drabbles [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Marriage Bed, Pain, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: The Reader has long awaited the return of her lord husband, Ramsay, so that their marriage months beforehand can finally be consummated.Originally posted on my Tumblr: DaenerysKhalasar





	Teach Me

Dreadfort was bleaker than home, though you were certain that home didn’t exist anymore. You had fled in the dark of night, with nothing but the blazing stronghold a guide in which direction to flee from as quickly as possible, your father and brother behind you. It had led you to your only allies in the war - the Boltons. People you had visited frequently in your youth, a castle you had spent many summers in, until the wretched war had begun. Lord Roose Bolton had pledged to your father and brother that you would be well protected here, something you knew to be true. No one dared infiltrated the Bolton stronghold. On your ride, you had seen the many examples why, and turned your head away in respect to those that had been flayed victim.

And yet when your brother and father rode off to play their parts in war, you had uneasily settled into life at Dreadfort year round. Winters were harsh and colder here than they had been at home. Falls were so similar, that you dared not even call it fall. And spring was just when everything defrosted, not when it came to life.

And Ramsay was someone that distracted you from the bleakness. Or perhaps, he just encouraged you to meet the other folks in the castle other than your maids. The arrangement for marriage had been made after only a few months into your permanent stay. Lord Bolton had given the offering of his blessing for it, and the promise of legitimizing Ramsay as his son. But you knew the true intention - heirs. With legitimizing Ramsay, there would be further need for Bolton heirs - which was where you came into play.

“Young Lord Bolton has arrived, my Lady,” you heard from your chief maid. You glanced up from the book, your seat by the fire in the library of Dreadfort as warm as it could get in spring. The maid was old, not enough years left of her to rear any children you’d have to their adult life, but she was kind and she was familiar - a constant reminder of peaceful times that would bring an easy smile to your face.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “Once I finish this last section here, I’ll be heading to my chambers, if you would be so kind as to relay the message.” To Reek was left unsaid, but the woman understood, giving a dip of her head to show her comprehension. You watched her leave, the door to the library shutting softly behind her, before you glanced back to the book. The tales of the Targaryen Dragons. A tale mostly told to children, but one that filled you with much joy in the freezing stone rooms. You wondered, often, what it would have been like with dragons to keep the castle warm and fires burning brighter and hotter than ever before.

The end of the tale, however, was sad, with the death of all those brothers and dragon riders, and dragons, that had existed. As you closed the tome, you placed it carefully between the cushions of the chair to be read later, and not be put back with the others by the servants, and gathered your cloak for the walk back to your chambers.

When you arrived, Ramsay was tugging off his heavy cloak, and traveling wear. It was the first you had seen him in months. And you could not help the smile that lit up your face as he turned abruptly in your direction. “Ramsay,” you greeted.

“Y/N,” Ramsay returned. His eyes looked you over, as if taking note of what of you had changed since he last saw you. A smirk touched his face. “Marriage suits you.”

“As it does you, my Lord,” you returned coyly. In the warmth of your chambers, you tugged your cloak off, draping it over a chair, and glanced towards him as he seemed to be watching your every move. It made you feel much more powerful than you had ever thought you could be compared to him. You could wield no weapon, would never flay a man, and yet his eyes seemed to be trembling with something men went weak with in the knees.

Desire. He was suddenly striding over to you, his boots clipping against the wood, and once he reached you, your lips clashed in a fiery embrace of longing and long-ago goodbyes. By the Gods, you had missed him. How he ended up in nothing more than his underclothes, and you in nothing more than your own, was a blur. You could not remember even unknotting your corset, or letting your hair down - or perhaps he had done that for you?

You just remembered his hands roaming above your clothing, and the desire to get more off.

“What is it you want, love?” Ramsay murmured. You weren’t sure what to say entirely. Him. You just wanted him. The way you were meant to have him.

“You,” you spoke aloud, your thoughts too loud to be silenced. And he seemed pleased with that decision. It was only when the shift you wore went over your head that you realized how utterly exposed you were. You had never been this undressed in front of anyone but your maids before - and only them for bathing purposes. As your shift joined the rest of your wrinkled gown on the floor, your arms went from helping him get it off of you, to wrapping around your breasts and stomach, in an attempt to block yourself from his probing stare.

His eyes were so dark, that they made your heart flutter - desire? Fear? With him, you weren’t sure what your heartfelt sometimes, not when love usually overpowered it. But just as soon as your hands had secured themselves against your flesh, he tutted in disappointment. And his grip found itself on your wrists.

You blinked up at your husband, as he tugged your hands from covering your body. And despite the growing flush of your cheeks, his eyes roamed you savagely, leaving no inch of you unseen.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured. You swallowed, glancing away. This night had been a long one coming. With the wedding a winter past, the consummation of the marriage had been put on hold. Not for your benefit, or Ramsay’s, or anyone else’s wishes. But because the circumstance simply did not allow for such intimate proceedings to happen. As soon as the vow ceremony had been done, Ramsay and his bannermen were on their horses and riding out of Dreadfort to seize Winterfell.

You had spent the winter alone, with no one but your handmaids to keep conversation with, and while you found them pleasant enough, you still thought constantly of this moment. It terrified you, because he would terrify you. When he had gone, he had left three flayed victims in his wake for those at Dreadfort to dispose of. And when he had come back, you were certain there would be at least two more to follow - prisoners of war that no longer could give him any news. But thinking about this now, of all times, was the last thing you should have been doing. One of Ramsay’s hands released your wrist, and you brought your now freed hand to your neck, showing openly your discomfort, and vulnerability.

Everything he was not - he was confident, sure, guarded. Even as children, you rarely saw the side of him that you knew existed. You rarely, now, saw the tender man that wanted to show he could love true and wholly, even if his soul was irredeemable to the Gods - both the Old and the New.

His hand ran along your side, tickling at your breast with its featherlight touch, before going all the way to the roundness of your rump. It was like he was flipping a switch that caused gooseflesh to appear, and you to swallow hard in both anxiety and panic. But you trusted him - Gods forgive you, you put your entire heart into this man. His sudden kiss was slow, and soft, distracting you as he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide for his hips, and the fingers that had trailed your side were now tightly gripping your bottom. As if kneading dough to make bread, he squeezed you hard. And while it didn’t hurt, it caused you to squirm slightly in discomfort.

“Ramsay… “ you murmured as he parted from you, and he shifted back a few millimeters. “You’ll have to teach me… I…” You faltered, embarrassed. But as he narrowed his eyes in confusion at you, you wrapped your arms around his torso, your hands sliding along his shoulders. And his expression melted into a stony look that told you nothing of what he was thinking. It was the guarded expression, as if he was very wary of something to come.

“Have you done this before?” he questioned. His question was sudden, and out of place, and the tone was entirely too wrong for such a tender moment. You shook your head quickly, knowing that if you had said any other answer, he wouldn’t have been pleased - though it was the truth. You were untouched. Ramsay’s eyes glinted with something that made you suck a breath in from fear. Something that promised torment and pain and potentially pleasure. For him, or yourself, you couldn’t be certain. “Good,” he said simply. And then he was gripping your hips, holding them down against the mattress, and pushed himself unrelenting into you.

Your breath hitched, both from the immediate pain and the feeling. It hurt, and he only stilled for a second, his panting breaths reminding you of an unrelenting hound when it was searching for something it desperately wanted. And the pause seemed purely for your well-being, to adjust.

But the second lasted longer than a moment. And your eyes were screwed shut. You had not realized that your nails clung tightly to his back, in an attempt to relieve the ache you felt. And then all too soon, you felt him moving, to unsheath himself from you, but you tightened your grip on his back, an urgent, “Wait,” slipping from you. He froze immediately, and you did not open your eyes to see his face. You just needed a moment more. “I’m sorry,” you found yourself uttering. “Just a second.” You had not expected the sudden intrusion, but perhaps that had been best. Like cloth against a cut, the quicker it was peeled off the better.

“Look at me,” his voice sounded, and you did so immediately. He was staring down at you, his eyes straying no where but your own, and he seemed to be doing a lot of effort in concentrating. “It’ll feel better once I start to move.” He seemed so certain of that fact. You weren’t naive enough to believe that he was as pure as you. Afterall, he had carried around that girl, Myranda, for years. Nearly as long as he had known you. But his tone was asking permission.

You gave a hesitant, jerky nod. You wanted to believe him, but he wasn’t in any pain at the moment. Moving your hands so that you could grip his shoulders better, you chewed on your lip and gave him an apologetic, uncomfortable smile. “Sorry… I … That probably hurt.” But besides your nail, he was not hurting like you.

He just gave an amused snort, in response, and kissed you soundly, not moving any other portion of his body even when he began to move his hips and the pain followed. It was completely different than the one he had first taken you with. But it wasn’t as bad. He seemed to be right about that. He slammed into you so hard, your body shifted up the mattress a few inches, and you were precariously close to the headboard. You let out a cry that he drowned with his mouth, and your fingers were once more digging into him - drawing him closer and also trying to find some purchase.

He groaned, the sound falling into your mouth like a finely melted chocolate. And he broke the kiss, one of the hands that had pinned you to the mattress now inches from your face, holding his weight and letting him hover over you like a shadow.

Yet, he had spoken the truth. And despite how rough he was, it did not hurt like it had at first. Occasionally, you’d emit a small whimper, the sound so miniscule compared to the sound of your flesh, that sometimes not even you could hear it. It by no means felt great, or like any of the others had told you - after all, you reasoned, if a whore made a career out of it, she had to get something in return besides a few coins.

And then you felt it. Something good, great you’d venture to name it. He was at your very core, seemingly driving deeper and deeper with each thrust, and your breath hitched for an entirely different reason than before. It was not in fear, but in the anticipation of feeling it once more. Of the foreign bliss that was tingling in you, budding to a start.

Ramsay noticed that. His eyes lit up with the sound, and how your hips were now meeting every slam against you - into you? You weren’t sure what would have been correct, thought you ventured both. And you could see the grin forming, and felt it as he pressed it against your neck, with open kisses that made your back arch. You sighed in pleasure, into his ear so you were sure he could hear you.

And the pacing changed. Just with that simple sound, suddenly the death grip he had on your hip and the hard assault against you changed to tenderness. To warmth and he did something when he entered you this time that hit something good. Something that made you stifle a cry.

“Let them hear you,” Ramsay dragged across your skin, his teeth short to follow the words. He nipped gently at your collar and this time you did not hold back as you cried out incoherent words of pleasure.

Your words came unrehearsed, fluttering out of you as he did whatever it was he was doing - you wished he wouldn’t stop. “Ramsay, please,” you breathed. You were so close to something - something you had never known before. “Oh, Gods,” you moaned as the softness of his blow tickled. Adding to the growing desire building in you. “Please, I’m so -” close? Even though you felt farther from earth in this moment than ever before.

Another nip was all it took for stars to appear, and him to chuckle into your neck as he milked you for all the pleasure you could spare. And you, in return, to him. His drives, even after your pleasure had subsided into numbing bliss, were no longer strategic and well placed. And though he was completely in control, for a split second, you could feel him beginning to lose it. To lose himself as he moved at a more erratic pace, his pants and grunts becoming just as frequent as your name - like a prayer to the Gods to grant him some mercy.

With one final thrust, the hardest since he had become tender, he came burst forth with a sharp nick at your neck that held itself between his teeth, even as he gave a few half-hearted thrusts. You could feel a liquid as he pulled himself from you, spent, and released you entirely from him. He fell onto the bed with a thump, a blinding grin on his face, and his eyes closed. His chin tilted up to the ceiling as if he could see the Gods themselves giving him a pardon.

But you were too curious, glancing at the mess between your thighs. There was a fluid that stuck to the skin like juice, and the unmistakable sight of blood. For a moment, you worried that you might have started your monthly bleedings in the middle of the process. But it was not enough blood, only a few drops mixed with the white fluids.

As you began to worry, Ramsay’s hand wound in his shift, tugging it off of him and catching your own hand from trying to clean yourself. You watched, attentively as he bundled the sweaty, warm fabric in his hand and nudged your legs apart. Despite your earlier embarrassment, you brought yourself up on your elbows to make sure he got everything. “Let me,” Ramsay murmured.

His touch was light, gentle against your skin, even when you squirmed because it tickled.

“I’m bleeding,” you admitted as you saw the redness transfer onto his shift.

“Nothing to write home about,” he said swiftly, his tone steady, and his eyes did not move away at all from your … well, intimate regions. “It just means … perhaps I was rougher than I should have been.” When he darted up to you, you swallowed at the storm in his eyes.

“Once I got used to it,” you admitted. “It wasn’t so bad.” He glanced back down, and satisfied with his work, cleaned himself off. And then his shift fell to the floor, before he crawled back up the bed to your side. Taking you wordlessly into his arms, he whispered softly against your ear.

“Next time, there will be plenty more to teach you.” You could not imagine there being more. And his arms tightened, pulling you flush against his chest, so that you could not see him, just feel every inch of him against your body. “And plenty more where I intend to see how beautiful you look from all angles.”

“Ramsay-” you flushed.

“You’re a Lady of House Bolton, now,” Ramsay reminded you. “And no Lady as sweet as you should be left to grow bored of her husband.”

You giggled. “Bored? Of you? Are you sure you weren’t knocked on the head on your way in?” He nipped at your shoulder in response. “Perhaps I should check you for injuries. Once I feel the need to move out of this bed, and dress again.”

“You’ll make a fine wife, yet,” he promised. And you couldn’t help but flush deeply, this time in pleasure. That you had not been a total disappointment, and that he seemed even more willing to go again than you had expected. Perhaps there was much, much more to learn.


End file.
